"The No. 4 courtyard next door used to be Zhang Zongchang's residence for his concubines. Before Liberation, No. 2 was inhabited by a government official, and after the founding of the PRC, it was allocated to me. In earlier years, students traveling to exchange revolutionary experiences were put up here, but there were never any other tenants."
"Has it all been returned to you now?"
"Yes, but it was never really my house in the first place—the state allocated it to me to live in. My kids have all settled down with families and careers of their own long ago. When I die, it goes back to the public, and I'll leave with no lingering worries."
"You really are on a higher plane. I couldn't do that. With a courtyard this nice, I'd cling to it till the day I die."
In the small sitting room of the main house, Wang Yang and Chen Qi chatted merrily. The early summer sunlight was gentle, filtering through the pomegranate tree in the courtyard and casting dappled shadows on the ground. The more Chen Qi looked at it, the more he liked it, though regrettably it wasn't his.
"Speaking of which, I've actually been looking to buy a house. If you hear of anything, please keep an ear out for me."
"You want to buy a house?"
Wang Yang's expression turned subtly strange. In these times, people broke their necks hoping their work units would allocate them housing; no one ever heard of someone wanting to buy their own. If someone wanted to buy a house, first, it meant they had money, and second, it meant they were a misfit who didn't fit into the collective.
Ever since Wang Yang first met Chen Qi, he had always felt the young man was peculiar, though in a vague way that was hard to pin down.
Now it suddenly became clear. He knew what Chen Qi's strangest trait was: Chen Qi lacked the fanatical longing that ordinary people felt toward a work unit—especially a good one. He was remarkably indifferent.
Take Zhao Qingli, for example.
Had Chen Qi merely slapped Zhao Qingli in the face? Of course not. He had slapped veteran workers everywhere in the face!
A young man whose official transfer hadn't even been finalized had publicly dressed down a veteran worker like a scolded grandson. Even if the other man had been in the wrong first, it simply defied all common sense and decorum!
That was why Wang Yang had called him over today for a frank and open talk. He said, "Xiao Chen, I heard all about what happened yesterday, but I'm not here to debate that with you. I only want to ask: do you really want to join Beijing Film Studio?"
"Of course!"
"Well, your actions certainly don't look like someone who wants to join."
"..."
Chen Qi fell silent for a moment, then said, "You took me under your wing and showed me great kindness. Since you're asking, I'll speak frankly today. When a newcomer enters the studio, first they do odd jobs, then they serve as an assistant. It takes at least ten years before they can take charge of a project on their own. That's just the way the work unit operates, and I won't dispute that. But for me personally, I absolutely cannot accept wasting ten whole years in vain. Even with you looking out for me, that timeline might only be cut down to what—five years? Three years?"
"Is three years not fast enough?"
Wang Yang was taken aback. He really had considered letting this kid train for three years, which in his mind was already breakneck speed.
"It really isn't. Do you know what my goal is? To have full control over a film from start to finish—from production to distribution, from director to cast. Everything decided by my word alone!"
"That's impossible!"
Even as a reformer with radical ideas, Wang Yang found this notion far too radical.
"Under our current system and policies, what you're describing could never happen. Even if you secured production rights, you still couldn't control distribution. On the outside there's China Film, above is the Film Bureau, and above that is the Ministry of Culture. If you try going overseas, you face restrictions from foreign affairs departments. How could you possibly be in full control?"
"That's why I said it's a goal. I didn't say I need to reach it right now."
Chen Qi smiled and continued, "In your position, you have your own difficulties, and I won't put you in an awkward spot. I do want to enter Beijing Film Studio, but not through an ordinary transfer. When all is said and done, it comes down to Tai Chi. It's still too early now. Bottom line, I'm grateful to you, and I'll follow in the footsteps of your reforms. You can rest assured on that!"
"Sigh, you kid..."
Wang Yang felt completely out of sync, as this went far beyond his usual way of thinking. He could only sigh.
Having put everything out in the open, Chen Qi stood up to take his leave.
Wang Yang sat in the room for a while, then pulled open a drawer. Inside lay several letters—after yesterday's incident got around, certain people in the studio had stayed up late writing report letters and letters of opinion, demanding that Chen Qi's temporary transfer be terminated and that he be kicked out.
Just as Chen Qi said, even as the studio head, he couldn't simply have his own way; he had to weigh all kinds of factors.
"..."
Wang Yang quietly glanced at the letters and closed the drawer again.
...
When Chen Qi returned to Beijing Film Studio, the looks people gave him were entirely different.
Everyone found Zhao Qingli annoying, so some people secretly gloated, while others found Chen Qi increasingly obnoxious, and most were just watching the spectacle. In everyone's eyes, he had already become a troublemaker in the work unit—and a temporarily transferred troublemaker at that.
"Comrade Chen Qi!"
"Director Sun?"
Suddenly, someone blocked his path. Chen Qi looked up; it was Deputy Director Sun Wenjin. Sun Wenjin wore an expression that said he had finally caught Chen Qi red-handed. "Come with me!"
"What for?"
"As if you don't know! I'm in charge of studio discipline, and I need to conduct an investigation into yesterday's incident!"
"Oh, you mean Zhao Qingli! Did he report it to you?"
"That's none of your business!"
"He didn't, did he? The person involved hasn't said a thing, nor has he filed a complaint with you. What are you investigating me for? Even the police handle cases by hearing both parties. You're going to investigate me unilaterally? Our crew has already lost two days. I need to get over there right away. Take care, Director!"
Chen Qi walked straight past him.
Sun Wenjin's nose was practically crooked with rage. But it wasn't as if he had never seen someone like this before; in the decades since Beijing Film Studio was established, all kinds of characters had passed through.
Take the famous Li Chunping, for instance—the one who claimed to have been kept by a wealthy Hollywood woman. He used to be in Beijing Film Studio's security department, got sentenced to three years for getting into a fight, and was expelled.
Sun Wenjin had personally signed off on that expulsion, so he felt rather regretful: why hadn't Chen Qi slapped Zhao Qingli in the face? Or simply beaten the crap out of him? Then Sun Wenjin would have had more than enough justification.
Chen Qi: Do you think I'm stupid? I came from an era where defending yourself is classified as mutual fighting!
One slap costs fifty thousand yuan—a financial risk second only to helping up an old lady who fell...
Then again, the reason he had such an ambivalent attitude toward joining Beijing Film Studio was precisely because people like this existed. Once he joined and had an official position, his hands would be tied at every turn.
Where would he find the endless time to bicker and fight with these people? This wasn't some damn inner-courtyard fighting novel, nor was it a corporate ladder-climbing drama!
Unless he could parachute in with an utterly detached, superior status—or simply set up his own outfit.
"Xiao Chen! Xiao Chen!"
Just as he reached the entrance of the soundstage, Gong Xue, who had been waiting who knew how long, hurried over. "Where have you been?"
"Looking for me?"
"I heard all about it. I wasn't there yesterday—are you all right?"
"I'm fine, perfectly fine!"
Seeing how worried she looked, Chen Qi couldn't help teasing her. "What, worried about me? How about I trade places with Xiong Xinxin and lie in a hospital bed for a few days? Wouldn't you have to visit me every day then?"
"I'm talking to you seriously! Don't joke around."
Gong Xue knitted her brows in gentle reproach and stamped her foot, trying to raise her voice and look furious. Unfortunately, no matter how hard she tried, she still looked like a harmless little bunny.
"Aiya, it's fine. It was just cussing out an old bastard. The guy had it coming!"
"Even so, you shouldn't... Wait, why are you using dirty words???" Gong Xue turned her head.
"Huh? Lao bideng isn't a curse word! 'Lao' is showing respect for him being an elder. 'Bi' is, well, bi... Uh, never mind, let's head inside!"
The two of them walked into the soundstage, where everyone was waiting.
This was Chen Qi's first appearance since going to the hospital yesterday, and everyone welcomed him like a returning hero. The phrase "protecting one's own" might annoy outsiders, but everyone loved being the one protected.
"..."
Zhao Qingli was there too. He was properly subdued now, stealing a glance at Chen Qi without daring to make a peep.
Chen Qi didn't bother paying him any mind either, sitting down with Li Wenhua and Yuen Woo-ping to discuss the upcoming scenes. Xiong Xinxin needed to stay in the hospital under observation for a few days, but the set had already been built and couldn't be dismantled, so they had no choice but to wait.
Li Wenhua said, "How about we shoot some exterior scenes first? The street set is half-finished. Filming half the street won't be a problem."
"That works, but this scene needs a lot of extras, plus several minor roles with lines."
"Let's go look around the Film Academy. Tomorrow happens to be their day off, so we can have them come for a day. With a one-yuan stipend, we can wrap it up in a single day," Li Wenhua said.
"All right, I'll head over right away!" Chen Qi agreed.
When filming at Beijing Film Studio, extras were always rounded up on the spot. They were either crew members stepping in or studio workers drafted to make up the numbers; if that still wasn't enough, they had to recruit outsiders. That was why, in the 1990s, crowds of Beijing drifters would squat outside the gate every day, waiting to be picked for a bit part.
It all depended on how you looked at it.
If you turned out to be Wang Baoqiang, that was called "harboring a dream and striving forward."
If you weren't Wang Baoqiang, it was called "unrealistic daydreaming."
Chapter 102